


Rain, Rain, Go Away ...

by MorganOfTheFey



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotions, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry Hancock, Pining, implied Drinking to Cope, so is Tory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got a tumblr prompt by officialvarrictethras for Danse x f!SS, with the theme of seeking solace!</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Tory comes to Danse in the middle of the night, needing to talk to someone who might understand. Danse isn't so good at the talking part, but he turns out to be pretty good for cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain, Rain, Go Away ...

“You know what it's like, don't you?”

Danse stared at Tory, and she looked at him with eyes wide enough that he'd almost call them pleading on any other woman. But Tory didn't plead or beg or give up, so he didn't understand what this was because it looked like she was doing one—or all—of those things.

“It's raining,” he replied, because fuck if he could ever say the right words at the right time. 

That wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted words that would show her he was worried, that he didn't want her to be cold, that she could come to him for anything.

Anything.

“You should come inside before you compromise your health, soldier.”

There. That at least got her through the door, into the truck stop and out of the rain. She'd let him stay at the Red Rocket after … everything. Sanctuary had been too much—too many people he couldn't bear to look in the eye—but he wanted to stay close. He didn't have anywhere else to go and he wanted to still be useful and he didn't know what to do anymore unless Tory gave him the orders and—

Tory. Focus on the objective, get Tory dry and warm. Then he'd try to blunder his way through whatever emotional problem she seemed to be having, although God only knew why she'd come to him about something like that.

“Strip,” he ordered, then what he said caught up with his brain again. “I uh, I have spare clothes. You can have those if you just … I'll get them for you now.”

Danse nearly pivoted with how quickly he turned, eyes straight ahead, _do not_ look at how her wet vault suit clung to her skin. He heard Tory take a seat in the single chair he had set up in his tiny room. That was his drinking chair. If he drank sitting on his bed-cot, the sheets smelled like alcohol and there was a chance he might throw up on it. Nothing worse than vomiting on your sleeping area, so he set himself up his own special misery chair and now Tory was here, sitting in it, looking about as miserable as he felt. It made his hands shake with how badly he wanted to fix the situation, but there wasn't any protocol for things like this.

“What happened?” he asked as he dug through the dresser for clothes that were clean and didn't smell too obviously of whiskey.

“I hit John.”

John? Did he know—the ghoul. _Hancock_ , she insisted on calling him. Danse had to take a deep breath and grip the edge of the dresser at the thoughts swirling around.

“If he—” Danse's hands flexed on the wood, his voice strained. “If he tried anything with you—”

“It wasn't like that,” Tory said.

Her voice lacked its usual heat in defending the gho—Hancock, though. He'd never heard her mumble like that, sound so small. When he turned around and offered her the cleanest shirt and pants he'd managed to find, she was staring down at her hands and he thought some of the wetness on her cheeks might not have been from the rain. He ended up awkwardly placing the clothes on the end of the cot beside her, like leaving an offering at a shrine.

“I'll just—” Danse turned and faced the wall. “If you want to change. Or talk. Anything you need.”

Shit, he hoped he didn't sound too desperate on that last bit. He'd never wish any sort of misfortune on his Sole, but since it had already happened anyway and she was here with him … maybe he could make it better. Maybe he could help her a fraction as much as she'd helped him, and maybe he needed that so goddamn badly, to have some sort of— _any_ sort of purpose in his life again.

“It was after a fight.” 

She said it so quietly he almost missed it over the sound of the rain.

“And it wasn't even like, I mean, there weren't feral ghouls and I got confused or it was too dark to tell who was who or … anything.”

The plaster was cracked and faded on the wall. It looked like how Tory's voice sounded at the moment, and Danse found himself envying her other companions yet again. Piper could do some sort of girl bonding with her, hug her and maybe rub her back or something. Deacon always knew exactly the right thing to say in any situation and his jokes made her laugh until she gasped with it. Hell, even the synth—shit, the _other_ synth, the one that wasn't Danse himself—Nick could give her some sort of two-centuries-of-life-experience advise that would probably be more helpful than just staring at the goddamn wall.

“I just, I was really angry at the raider because I'm mad about a lot of things, I'm mad all the fucking time. And I kept hitting him, over and over, and John tried to stop me because he was already dead, and I whirled around and punched him. Which, shit, I guess might not have been so bad, but then I almost hit him again and I knew who it was then—I knew it was John and I still wanted to hit him just because he was there and I could and I … I—”

Tory's voice broke off into sobs. Rectify the situation, right now. Danse risked turning around to peek at her and found to both his relief and mounting worry that she was still fully dressed. She needed to get out of that wet vault suit, but she was clearly in no condition for that at the moment. So what next? The objective, focus on the objective. Get Tory warm and dry. If he couldn't take the vault suit off of her, he could at least get her warmed up some. 

Danse approached her slowly, standing in front of her as she cried for one awkward moment before he dropped to his knees in front of her without preamble. She reached out for him immediately, and he let her throw her arms around his neck and hide her face against his shoulder. He tentatively reached for her next, scooping her up in his arms and when she didn't protest that, picking her up entirely to relocate her to his bed. The cot was small enough that there was only enough room for him, which didn't leave any room on the side for him to set her down, so he ended up with her in his lap. That was good though because it meant he could give her his body heat. Tory didn't seem to mind either, curling up against him and sniffling into his chest while he wrapped the blankets around her.

“M'sorry,” she mumbled.

“You're fine,” he said. “Just keep breathing, sol—Tory.”

She nodded and tried to match her sharp inhales and shuddery exhales to his slow, deliberate breaths. They sat in silence until her tears died down and her breathing evened out.

“I could go with you,” Danse finally said. “On your next outing. You wouldn't have to worry about hitting me.”

“What if you were out of your power armor?” she asked. “I could hit you then.”

“You wouldn't have to worry about it,” he said.

Tory's head snapped up and she glared at him, her eyes back to their usual ferocity. “Yes I would! You're a person, Danse. A _person_. You don't deserve to be hit.”

Danse could think of a whole list of things he'd done to deserve a good right hook. Maybe that's what he could do. Skip the apologies, just walk up to Sanctuary with a “hit me” sign taped to his chest, let everyone he'd been an asshole to get in one good shot.

But Tory would never allow it.

“I meant, I'd be more prepared,” he said. “The—uh, Hancock has good instincts, but he's never been formally trained. I have, and I would restrain you if you got violent.”

Tory considered him for a moment and then let out a wry huff. “You're a shit liar, Danse. You should take lessons from Deacon.”

“You should get changed into dry clothes,” he replied.

She blinked and looked down at herself. “Oh. Shit. I got you all wet.”

“It's fine. I'll—”

He shifted beneath Tory, and she scooted off him as best she could so he could stand up. Then it was another hunt for a semi-clean set of clothes, which ended with him stripping and changing with military efficiency in one corner of the room while Tory did the same in the other corner. Once he was dressed and reasonably certain that she was too, he took a seat in the misery chair.

“You get some rest, I'll keep first watch,” he announced.

“Can you not?” Tory asked softly.

Danse pushed to his feet immediately. “Of course.”

He shouldn't have expected her to be all right with sleeping in the same room as him. He could just as easily keep watch outside. It would actually be more efficient if—

“Wait, don't go,” Tory's voice called him back.

He paused with his hand on the door knob. “Is there something you need?”

“I want you to stay.”

Danse turned around slowly at that, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You said you didn't want me to keep watch.”

Tory nodded. “You need to sleep.”

He looked away. “I'm a synth. I don't need—”

“OK, but you function better with a good night of sleep.”

Danse couldn't argue with that.

“And I need you in good shape to come with me to that settlement Preston wants me to see.”

Danse didn't want to argue with that, so he made his way back to the chair again. He'd fallen asleep sitting there drinking enough times already.

“We can share the bed,” Tory blurted out, blushing when he stared at her. “I don't want to feel alone.”

Technically, she wouldn't be alone if he took the chair, which was literally shoved right up next to the bed in the tiny room, but that was another thing Danse wasn't going to argue with, Tory wanting him in her bed. Well, his bed, but everything that was his was hers.

“How …” He trailed off and cleared his throat, looking at the bed in question.

Tory hopped up. “You lay on the mattress and I'll lay on you.”

Danse hurried to lay down as she instructed, hoping she would see the blush burning across his face or change her mind. As soon as he got into the bed, she crawled in on top of him, flopping down on his chest and wriggling around to find a comfortable position. Danse stared at the ceiling and thought about angry deathclaws and the fact that he was a synth and how he'd probably have to apologize to Hancock one day while the woman he loved squirmed around on top of him in his bed. But even the thought of smug ghoul grins could only do so much, and he breathed out a sigh of relief as she finally got herself situated to her contentment.

“Goodnight, Danse.”

She leaned up and pressed a quick kiss against his jaw, and the warmth of it burned through his entire body. His throat was too tight to make a reply back, so he settled for carefully resting his arm across her back, then squeezing gently when she let out a happy sigh against his neck.

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Danse, so let me know how I did!


End file.
